


A Promise

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, References to Major Character Death, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I’m here now,” he said, going to stand by Merlin and wrapping his hands around Merlin’s trembling fingers. “I’m here now, Merlin.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the vid, [The Stolen Child](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kRaikBLoxE&feature=youtu.be), which I highly recommend. The vid is less sad than this fic, but I wanted to explore what waiting for centuries might do to Merlin's state of mind. 
> 
> Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this.

The little house was cluttered and crowded and smelled of damp, decaying leaves. Pebbles and the soft feathers of birds clustered in the corners of the shelves. Piles of old, worn books lay scattered across tables next to abandoned cups of cold tea. Many of the things, Arthur didn’t recognize, and he felt ancient and young at the same time.

Merlin was doing something with a black pot and a large, square piece of metal. He kept taking tiny sticks from a box and drawing them quickly along its edge, producing a flame. But his hands were shaking so much that the flame kept going out. 

“I’m making tea. I’m not an idiot,” Merlin mumbled. “Not clumsy. Don’t say such things, Arthur. I know you’re king, but that doesn’t mean you should be a clotpole all the time.”

Arthur started to protest that he had said nothing and then realized with a sick pang that Merlin wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to a memory, a shadow. He must have carried on thousands of such one-sided conversations over the years.

“I’m here now,” he said, going to stand by Merlin and wrapping his hands around Merlin’s trembling fingers. “I’m here now, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes kept flickering towards his face and then skittering away at the last second. He stared down at their hands instead. “I waited,” he said.

“I know.” Arthur looked around the little house. “Did you wait… _here_ all this time?”

“You might wake up tomorrow, Arthur.” Merlin’s gaze moved towards the window, to the view of the island. “What if I should be gone? You would need me, and I would be gone.” He pulled away and went back to trying to make the flame again. “I have to stay.” 

“I _did_ wake up,” Arthur said, trying again. “I woke up, and you were there. And now we’re both here, together.” 

“I only have tinned stuff. Nothing good to eat.” Merlin dropped the little sticks and started to move towards the door. “Arthur won’t like it. I should get some meat and cheese and eggs. Then I’ll be ready if tomorrow…”

For a second, he wanted to return to the oblivion of Avalon. To have to see Merlin like this—to know that it was because of _him_ that Merlin had waited—

“Merlin, stop,” he said, injecting every ounce of authority he possessed. 

Merlin froze.

“Come here,” Arthur told him, and Merlin came, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” Arthur said gently.

Merlin’s eyes were wet with tears. He drank Arthur in for a moment, and then suddenly he was touching him—frantically running his hands over Arthur’s face and hair and body, feeling for the pulse in his neck. “You died in my arms,” he whispered.

“I didn’t want to be anywhere else,” Arthur replied, and he pulled Merlin into a hug. 

Merlin clung to him, and Arthur, who was reacquainting himself with the sharp edges of Merlin’s shoulder blades and the softness of his hair, slowly became aware that Merlin was saying something over and over, muffled against Arthur’s chest. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

“Merlin—” His voice broke on the sorrow.

“Please,” Merlin continued, his breath coming fast against Arthur’s skin. “This time—this time when whatever we must do is over—this time, let me come with you.”

“I promise.” Arthur cradled his head between his palms and kissed his forehead, then the bridge of his nose. “I promise.”

“Is it—?”

“It’s peaceful,” Arthur said. “Very peaceful.”

Some of the tension drained out of Merlin, though he remained in Arthur’s arms, resting his head on his shoulder. Arthur held him and swore to whatever gods watched over this strange world that he would not let Merlin suffer for another eternity. He would not—could not—even if it meant that the next time he awoke from a long sleep there would be no one waiting for him.


End file.
